The wind in the valley of Mournveil Residence no longer felt cool, as though a bitterness lingered in every breath, as if the earth itself refused to speak. Mist danced with shadows of the past in Alaric's mind, who lay asleep from the exhaustion of his soul. The twilight light slipped through the stained-glass window, painting the floor in hues of red and amber, beauty before the sky greeted the stars.
Alaric's eyelids opened, awakening Alaric as the sound of footsteps echoed. A knock and the creak of the door served as the first greeting, then came Luke's voice, like a guide.
"Congratulations on successfully killing her, Master."
Alaric furrowed his brows slightly without looking at Luke, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, "You're mistaken."
Luke nodded as if he understood the unspoken meaning behind Alaric's words. Luke's right hand slowly moved to his left chest, fingers pressing softly against the fabric wrapping his body as he bent slightly in silence. The motion was firm, yet carried the gentle grace of inherited devotion.
"Congratulations, you have killed her, Master Alaric."
Alaric only murmured softly in agreement to Luke's words. Moonlight crept through the window slits, washing the floor with reflections that always felt cold. Their ears could hear the echo of footsteps, sounding like the march of fate, though faint.
Those eyes gleamed beneath the darkness of night, as if able to see far into the object of desire. A thin smoke still floated in the air, forming a vague shadow no longer retaining shape. Where Seraphina once stood, now remained only the charred ashes of a curse rooted for millennia, lulled by fate.
That underground chamber still felt cold, even as the grey of death merged with the damp of the walls. There were no screams, only the ticking of time. None looked at the soil with sorrow and only ashes remained.
"That will suffice."
They called that power blood-sight, possessed only by pure-blood nobles. Yet for Alaric, it was merely a tool to ensure his pawns remained on the board.
In his sight, Alaric saw Thalia standing like a stone carving. She stood there, staring at the remnants without tears. Perhaps not from grief, but from confusion left unresolved.
"Should I teach her how to be a good Mother?"
Luke gave a gesture and words of agreement to Alaric's question about Thalia. Alaric turned to the small figure opening the door to his study. Elric stood there, then ran to embrace Alaric's legs, sobbing, echoing through the room.
"Where's Mama? We were sleeping together, weren't we?"
Alaric exhaled quietly at the sobbing murmurs from Elric, always repeated whenever Thalia ignored him. At that moment, Alaric pondered the reason Elric clung to Thalia like a child unwilling to part from his mother, even for a few seconds. Alaric was certain he was never like that at Elric's age.
"You really love your Mama."
Elric nodded slightly, his shoulders trembling, soft sobs nestled between uneven breaths as if in agreement. He looked up at Alaric with eyes brimming with tears.
"I'm Mama's boy."
Elric's tone held pride despite the weeping that still lingered. Alaric flicked his finger against his son's forehead felt light but sharp enough to startle. Elric winced, rubbed his forehead, and rolled his eyes as if annoyed.
"Stop your theatrics in front of me."
Alaric's voice was calm, yet his gaze sharp like the edge of night, as if knowing Elric's tears weren't purely born of affection or pain, but a small game that would never deceive him. Elric let out a quiet huff, almost inaudible, holding back irritation while Alaric stared back expressionlessly.
"Mama's blood is tasty. I like it."
Elric uttered the words innocently, his gaze turning vacant for a moment as if recalling the faint taste left on his tongue. A strange and honest sincerity echoed coldly.
"But seeing you like this is kind of interesting."
Elric crossed his arms, brow slightly furrowed, "So, are you mad or impressed, Father?"
Alaric looked at Elric with eyes like a mirror that held no reflection which flat, quiet, unreadable, "Neither," he replied, his voice so calm it felt more intimidating than any outburst.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Elric pouted, visibly annoyed, hiding the confusion in trying to understand Alaric's ever-unwavering calm.
Alaric stood from his seat, his movement quiet yet firm. He walked away without a single glance at Elric. Seeing that, Elric started to follow, but stopped as Luke bent slightly, lowering himself to match Elric's height, a respectful gesture wrapped in gentle control.
"Master Alaric is currently executing his plan to return Lady Thalia to you, Young Master Elric," said Luke in a neutral tone with a faint edge.
Elric frowned, his eyes reflecting displeasure at Luke's way of speaking as though he knew everything, "Then I'll see for myself how Father plans to do that."
Luke remained bowed, unmoving with said, "But if you do, your true self will be revealed. Didn't Lord Alaric already say that even with me in the room?"
Elric froze, his breath hitched slightly, then he scoffed quietly, lips curled in a small sneer. Elric's gaze turned away, avoiding Luke's eyes. Elric said nothing more, standing silently as the door closed slowly before him, allowing Alaric to leave without him.
In the chime of time, Thalia flinched as the sound of the door opening permitted light to enter through the gap in Alaric's presence. Seraphina's deathly dust had vanished completely, leaving no trace in the air.
"Elric cried because of you, Thalia."
Thalia clenched her arms tightly, staring at the emptiness of the room beyond the bars, her gaze hollow as she recalled her behavior toward Elric. Thalia moved mechanically, knowing neither how to be a good mother nor how to love sincerely without feeling coerced.
After all, Thalia had only just become a mother, hadn't she? Or perhaps Thalia would've behaved differently if Elric were her child with Ashen.
"Love is not just about giving blood," Alaric's voice rang cold and flat as ever. "You didn't even act as a good wife."
Thalia felt slapped by those words, though it didn't mean she felt guilty because to her, being with them robbed her of happiness. Forced to marry someone she didn't love, then that someone turned out to be a mythical creature, and having a child felt like being reduced to an antique admired for beauty alone. Thalia was sick of it all.
"I'm not a woman made to bear children or do household chores, and you have servants to take care of this place."
Thalia flinched in silence at Alaric's response, "But all you did was carry, give birth, and feed him."
Alaric's hand touched her cheek, gently, though his touch was cold. Alaric's gaze carried no emotion, as though deliberately kept clean of any stain. Alaric leaned close to Thalia's face, though she felt no breath, for vampires mimicked humans without exhaling.
"I'll let you be with Ashen if you do your duty well...," Alaric said, his voice calm as if filled with care, then whispered into Thalia's faintly ringing ear, "...and if not, I believe you know how easily I can erase something from my life."
A threat ignored by Thalia so blissfully immersed in the thought of freedom through love that she failed to absorb his words. Foolish, wasn't it?